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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772292">Fair City</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/32fahrenheit/pseuds/32fahrenheit'>32fahrenheit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>FAH - Fandom, foil arms and hog</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Mob, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, Multi, RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:00:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/32fahrenheit/pseuds/32fahrenheit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The officer paused at the door and turned to look at them. “I’m here to introduce myself, actually. I want you to be familiar with my face, when I lock you up for good - Detective Inspector Finegan. Nice to meet you, lads” and with a satisfied little smile, he turned around and left, the door clanging shut behind him.</p><p>There was a moment of silence. The DI’s footsteps echoed down the hall and disappeared.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fair City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"The earliest known RPF (real person fiction) was written by Shakespeare as Shakespearean history, published in his First folio in 1623. Following that, the Brontë children wrote RPF from 1826 to approximately 1844. Based on the children's roleplaying game about the Napoleonic Wars, the series featured the Duke of Wellington and his two (actual) sons Charles and Arthur, and their nemesis Alexander Percy, partly based on Napoleon. (...) These stories were not published until well over a hundred years later, but the children used them to polish their writing skills and eventually all became professional authors."</p><p>So, don't mind me, just following in Shakespeare and the Brontë children's steps with some RPF (as if).</p><p>RPF is simply a way to use their names and physical descriptions as a base for characters in the story; they're not (as far as we know) actual criminals/policemen. These are not meant to be accurate depictions of them.</p><p>If you think you won't enjoy FAH RPF, pop over to the lads' Fandom Wiki (https://foil-arms-and-hog.fandom.com/wiki/Foil_Arms_and_Hog_Wiki) and enjoy some REAL facts about them!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The metallic clang of the door closing echoed through the tiny holding cell.</p><p>The two new additions to it sat down, just opposite the man already in there. The man, who had been lying down across one of the flimsy metal benches, trying to sleep, looked up at his new cell-mates curiously. Both of the men looked back.</p><p>The one on the left smiled at him, in a way that was meant to come across as polite.</p><p>The other one spat out: “What are ye lookin’ at, hobo?”</p><p>The man, who looked like he'd be fighting a killer hangover in a few hours, squinted at their faces, trying to properly make out their features - then paled and sat up, wide-eyed and alert, visibly sobered up. He staggered off the bench and launched himself to the door, banging on it insistently.</p><p>“What tha’ fuck do ya think yer doin’ leavin’ me with these - get me <em>out </em> of here, ya <em>crazy bastards</em>, are yiz gone in the head?! I’m only here cuz I was drunk, please, let me out, I’ll never drink again, I swear on me mammy, I swear!” he started shouting.</p><p>The one on the left rolled his eyes. The one on the right sniggered.</p><p>There was movement outside, and then finally the door opened. The man fell gratefully at the blond officer's feet.</p><p>"Out you go, O'Brady. Stay away from the drink and you won't end up in these situations," the officer admonished, letting the other guard take the drunk man away. He looked up at the two remaining men.</p><p>"McKenna. Flanagan. Fancy seeing you lads in here!"</p><p>"Enjoy the view, blondie, cos yiz ain't going ta be seein' it fer much longer" Flanagan drawled, sizing the blond officer up - young, in good shape, neat and tidy in his new uniform. Fresh new blood for the Gardaí, it seemed.</p><p>"You know, it's considered <em>quite</em> rude to call someone by name, and to then not introduce yourself, for them to be able to extend the same courtesy to you" McKenna observed, distractedly straightening out his suit jacket.</p><p>The officer ignored both remarks, clearly unfazed by the prisoners’ self-confidence, and just surreptitiously read the file in his hands. "Well, boys, looks like you lot got into a bit of a squabble, didn't you?"</p><p>McKenna and Flanagan scowled at each other, but remained silent. The officer raised an amused eyebrow at the sight - polished, sophisticated, up-right McKenna, underboss for the Dunne clan, in his impeccable black two-piece suit and his diamond-studded little hoop earring, scowling childishly at a slouching Flanagan, the notorious capo for the Gilligan clan, who was donning his famous knee-length, wool-lined camel coat and ripped jeans, the hint of a tattoo peeking out at the base of his neck. Two of Dublin’s most feared - and revered - criminals, in jail for throwing a public tantrum.</p><p>“It was barely a squabble,” McKenna retorted. “And also, none of your concern.”</p><p>“Says here you were found pointing guns at each other - that qualifies as a squabble, at the very least, in my books. And therefore, is <em>very</em> much my concern” the officer calmly answered, nodding towards the file in his hands.</p><p>“Listen, blondie - are ye here just ta ogle us or do ya have news from tha judge? Has he already told ya we’re free ta go?” Flanagan drawled, crossing his arms impatiently.</p><p>“Judge O’Keeffe still hasn’t responded. Maybe he’s planning on keeping you in, this time, Flanagan” the officer smiled and turned to leave.</p><p>Flanagan scoffed. “Yeah, right. So ya really <em>are</em> only ‘ere to ogle us?” Flanagan smirked.</p><p>The officer paused at the door and turned to look at them. “I’m here to introduce myself, actually. I want you to be familiar with my face, when I lock you up for good - Detective Inspector Finegan. Nice to meet you, lads” and with a satisfied little smile, he turned around and left, the door clanging shut behind him.</p><p>There was a moment of silence. The DI’s footsteps echoed down the hall and disappeared.</p><p>“Must you put on that appalling accent? It really gets on my nerves, you know” McKenna spoke up.</p><p>“Yeah, well, I do have a certain street cred to maintain,” Flanagan answered in a much clearer voice, the previous drawl nowhere to be heard. Even his posture subconsciously changed, dropping the slouch and straightening up beside his cellmate.</p><p>McKenna snorted at him, leaning his head back against the cement wall and crossing his arms. “I sincerely doubt your street cred would be ruined by you speaking decent English.”</p><p>“Polite-sounding threats are your thing, not mine - nothing like putting the fear of God into the lambs with just your tone of voice. Really gets them cooperating.”</p><p>“Well it didn’t seem to work with this guy. You might be losing your touch” McKenna sneered.</p><p>“Nah, that was just this bloke, Finegan. He’s the new DI who’s been busting our arses” Flanagan answered defensively.</p><p>McKenna’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait... that’s the new DI?” he frowned, anger seeping into his voice. “I thought we’d all agreed to back Kavanaugh for the new DI position?”</p><p>“Don’t start this again, McKenna, we’re already in a cell. Yes, we backed Kavanaugh too, but the Commissioner himself put Finegan up for the spot” Flanagan scowled at the wall. “Interferin’ bashtard,” he drawled and muttered, angrily kicking at some dirt.</p><p>“Will you stop with that horrifying accent? Seriously. It’s just me now. Are you <em>trying</em> to drive me up the walls?” McKenna spat out, visibly irritated.</p><p>“Couldn’t care less if I drive you up the wall, to be completely honest. If you hadn’t come heavy, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”</p><p>“If <em>I</em> hadn’t come heavy?! You had a gun with you too! How is this <em>my</em> fault?!”</p><p>“Yeah, well, if I’d been the only one with a gun there wouldn’t’ve been a problem” Flanagan said.</p><p>“You would try the patience of a saint,” McKenna muttered under his breath, patting his pockets and finally unearthing a box of Marlboro Reds and a lighter.</p><p>“Whoa, nice one, pal” Flanagan snatched the lighter out of McKenna’s hand, examining it with interest. “We can burn the place down and get out - how did the guards miss it?”</p><p>McKenna snatched the lighter back from him. “Don’t fucking steal from me, Flanagan, or I’ll pull your teeth out, one by one, I swear to God.” He took out a cigarette. “They didn’t miss it. I nicked it back when they were checking my shoes. And we’re not burning anything down, you lunatic, we’d be locked in <em>with</em> the fire” he placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a first drag. “Although, I think I’d prefer to share my cell with a fire than with you.”</p><p>After a moment of silence, Flanagan’s eyes lit up with an idea. “I know how to get them to put us into separate cells.”</p><p>McKenna raised his eyebrows in disbelief, taking another drag of the cigarette. “Does it involve <em>arson</em>?”</p><p>“Ok, so, listen, listen,” Flanagan lowered his voice and spoke excitedly. “They couldn’t care less if we’re fighting. Even if we beat the hell out of each other, they wouldn’t budge. But if we were to shag it out -”</p><p>McKenna scrunched his nose up. “Ew, Flanagan, no.”</p><p>“What? You can’t tell me it’d be the first time you do it on the floor.”</p><p>“Dude. Shut up, I’m not having this conversation with you” McKenna took another drag of his cigarette and tapped the excess ash off the end of it.</p><p>“Oh come on, man, we both came up through the Reform system,” Flanagan took the cigarette from him.</p><p>McKenna let him take it, watching him put the cigarette to his lips with renewed curiosity. “You went to an Industrial School too?”</p><p>“Artane. You?” Flanagan took a drag of the cigarette.</p><p>McKenna pursed his lips. “Carriglea Park.”</p><p>Flanagan laughed, puffs of smoke escaping through his lips. “You posh fuck.”</p><p>McKenna chuckled in agreement. A moment of silence stretched between them, a tentative feeling of camaraderie starting to form as the smell of tobacco started to fill the room. Then Flanagan spoke again.</p><p>“D’you think the monks were genuinely better teachers down South, or is the only difference between you and me that your monks said ‘I love you’ after buggering you sore?”</p><p>In one quick succession of moves, McKenna stood up, grabbed Flanagan by the front of his shirt and threw him against the wall, holding him against it with his bodyweight.</p><p>“You think you’re <em>really</em> smart, don’t you, Flanagan?” he growled, tightening his grip in his hoodie and slamming him against the wall again for emphasis.</p><p>Flanagan’s breath hitched in his throat - yes, this dangerous McKenna, with that fire in his eyes, teeth bared in a snarl, neck-veins popping - now <em>this</em> he could work with. He took the lit cigarette, still in his hand, and buried it into the skin on McKenna’s wrist.</p><p>McKenna gasped and hissed at the burning pain. Flanagan hummed contentedly, still pressed against the wall. They waited for a couple of moments, seeing if they'd get a reaction from security, but clearly Flanagan had been right.</p><p>“Sorry, we did agree we didn’t want to start a fire,” he said, looking at McKenna from underneath his long lashes.</p><p>“A bit fucking late for that, don’t you think?” McKenna spat out angrily, his wrist still screaming with pain, before capturing his lips in a hard, hungry kiss.</p><p>The reaction came almost immediately.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, back off, now” officers stormed in and separated them, practically dragging Flanagan out of the cell.</p><p>Seeing DI Finegan watch from the corridor, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, Flanagan laughed maniacally at him. “Don’t be jealous, blondie, I’m sure McKenna has a snog saved for you too!”</p>
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